


Lay All You Want On Me

by dollylux



Category: Tennis RPF
Genre: 2008 Summer Olympics, Comfort, Exhaustion, M/M, Pet Names
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-08
Updated: 2014-06-08
Packaged: 2018-02-03 22:14:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1758305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dollylux/pseuds/dollylux
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An exhausted Rafa gets brief but much-needed comfort from Roger after his match.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lay All You Want On Me

**Author's Note:**

> I was inspired by two things: the sex that is [Roger](http://pics.livejournal.com/morebliss/pic/004e5zyg) [Federer](http://i34.photobucket.com/albums/d103/tarteinNZ/tumtum.jpg?t=1218496798) in his little Swiss Olympic shirt, and the heartbreak of realizing during Rafa's match how exhausted he really is. :(

The most amazing thing, Rafa supposed, was how Roger managed to never look like he was sweating. He sweated so much himself that he didn't even notice it anymore, didn't notice the beads of perspiration tracing the contours of his face and the lean cords of muscle all over his body. When Rafa played hard, you knew it. But Roger made it look languid, a leisure sport.

Rafa had won his match against Starace none too easily, leaving him feeling relieved but also knotted up, his stomach in a nagging twist. Going back into the locker room, he showered quickly and attended the mandatory press conference where he answered questions as optimistically as he could. But all he could think about was how he had passed Roger on his way in--Roger's way out--and about how astoundingly beautiful he had looked, how fresh and quiet and solid he looked in his Olympic uniform, god bless Nike. They hadn't said much, a couple of muttered words and nods before Roger continued on his way out, bags on lean shoulders, curls lifted as he walked away.

Rafa couldn't get back to the locker room fast enough after the conference.

He knew that watching the match live would have been too much, too much pressure for both of them. So he sat himself down in the locker room where TVs were playing many of the sports that were going on around him, his eyes immediately seeking out Roger's match and staying on it. Through the first set he didn't move much, simply gnawed at his calloused fingers nervously, knees jumping a bit to release some of the energy coursing through him. He was tired, beyond tired, really, running solely on fumes, but just seeing Roger gave him a new strength, a new sense of wantonness that had him almost chewing his fingernails off.

No sooner had he jumped up with a yelp of relief, cheering with no one around him when Roger came back into the locker room just as smoothly as he had left it, just as alone, this time just covered in a fine coat of sweat, from the tip of his hair down through the red of his shirt.

Roger placed his bag on a bench and reached immediately for a locker, not aware of Rafa's presence just yet. He still seemed to be unwinding. Rafa's approach was cautious, a calculated walk that was slow but not too slow, a practiced but real smile on his lips, finding his voice even though it was meek.

"Great match."

Roger's head snapped up on instinct, dark eyes confused only for a second before he broke out into a grin, pulling out a bottle of water from his bag, tightening the lid uselessly. "Thanks, Raf. You played well, too. I got to see the last set before I went out."

Rafa returned the smile but shrugged off his compliment, not feeling that great about his own performance and can't think about the fact that Roger saw all of his little mistakes. That thought had always obsessed him. "Maybe better tomorrow, no? A little bad today. Nerves maybe."

"You looked fine." Roger's smile was reassuring if not a little nervous, the bottle being replaced in his bag, the tips of his long fingers starting to pull off his shirt starting with the scruff of his collar, seeking to take his shirt off in that most charming, boyish way.

"You look..." Rafa started, a tinge of desperation in his voice, a brave hand coming up to still the progress of Roger's hands, silently making him keep the shirt on even as his eyes travelled Roger's body. The pads of his fingers came into contact with that damp, sensually-fitted red polo shirt, the absolute soaking of the fabric with sweat sending a hard shiver down his spine. He marveled at the stark contrast of how dry Roger had looked on the television screen this side of five minutes ago and how drenched he was right here in front of him. His mouth stayed open, slack with sentiment that would have gotten lost in translation, his hand tightening on Roger's shirt so he could use the grip to pull him closer. Not letting his mouth harden for a second, he closed his lips around the hard point of Roger's jaw, the tip of his tongue darted out to taste his skin.

His hands were everywhere suddenly, moving from his back to his chest, dragging them up hard against it to feel every softly curved line of him, to feel how sturdy his shoulders, how pronounced his collarbone, how soft his stomach. "Oh, Rogelio..." Rafa breathed, washing the shell of Roger's ear with his words, tipping his face up to let his nose nudge those damp curls, breathing in the sun-heated scent of him.

Roger tipped his head to one side out of pure, sexual instinct, breath caught in his throat at the beautiful shock of Rafa's needy little mouth, too long since he'd felt it, too long since they had let such abandon tear through them to get at each other. His hands trembled to gain purchase on Rafa's clean, soft shirt, never-minding that he was soiling the boy's clothes, neither cared.

"This... on you..." Rafa's mouth dragged along Roger's cheek until lips met lips and then he was panting, eyes wide with want as he searched Roger's, letting his fingers curl until nails were against Roger's shirt, dragging downward: collar, white stitching, proud words, ribs, and stomach, earning a sharp shock of a gasp from Roger and a graceful little curl of his lean back, pushing their bodies together. "This is what I dream. Turn me on so much."

"Fuck, Raf," Roger groaned, curling his forehead to rest against Rafa's, his eyes slipping closed, giving himself this allowance, letting himself get lost in him just for a moment though he knew it was only temporary, his conference needed to happen within half an hour of the match, he knew it, they both knew it. Rafa's hands were under his shirt before he knew it, reveling in the wet tendrils of dark hair on his chest and stomach, worshipping at Roger's skin as only he could, as only he did.

Roger finally closed his mouth with a plan, with a slow, sweet kiss to Rafa's pliant mouth. Rafa softened immediately, the sudden and pure exhaustion pulled to the forefront and then he was practically leaning on Roger, his hands moving from his stomach to around his back, winding there underneath his Suiss shirt, hugging him loosely. The sudden change in Rafa made Roger's heart ache dully, made him kiss Rafa once more, even softer.

"You're exhausted." Rafa nodded at the gentle rumble of Roger's words, not hiding it for once, not making excuses for it or pretending he was anything but tired. Roger lifted a tender hand and ran it through Rafa's shampoo-scented hair, palm traveling down his high cheekbone, his eyebrows crinkled with concern. Rafa nuzzled Roger's hand, sighing heavily against the heel of it, pressing an apologetic kiss to the long vein that started up his arm from his wrist.

"I will be fine, Rog. It does not matter right now. I want just to see you." His eyes opened to meet Roger's, the warmth in them heartbreaking, practically begging Roger forward to kiss the skin between them.

"I have to go right now, you know," he murmured, feeling the anguish in Rafa's grip on him as he said it. He cupped his face and kissed his eyebrows, one, two, three. "But stay right here and I'll come back. We'll figure out a way to make this better. I know you're tired, _schöner junge_..."

He guided Rafa back to the bench and knelt down in front of him. Rafa smiled down at Roger, his hands on him to immediately try and pull him back up; he couldn't stand the thought of Roger knelt before anyone, especially himself. Roger remained unmoved in front of him, simply returning the smile, making his voice even more quiet, so quiet that Rafa had to lean forward to capture all of his words.

"I've missed you so much, Rafa. I know you've been working too hard, it's all too much right now. But..." Roger leaned up now to kiss him again, fingers tangling with Rafa's. "I'm here now. Unload on me, if you won't anywhere else. Fall apart a little, okay? I'm right here." He gave Rafa a tiny smile, the press of it against Rafa's lips making him smile back. Rafa gave a small nod, a grip of fingers. He was grateful that Roger was too close to make out the shimmer of tears in his eyes.

"Hurry back to me, Roger. Please?"

Roger nodded just once and stood up, resolved to get through his obligations because his mind was already sewn up here to this boy, this tired, beautiful boy he couldn't take his eyes off of. He pressed a single kiss to the vein on inside of Rafa's left wrist before he let him go, turning at the last second before he left the room to meet his dark eyes with a clear message: _I'm yours, not theirs._


End file.
